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Feel Good Friday – Homecoming versus “Homecoming”

Sorry I’ve been such a slacker the past week…I promise to get back into blogging mode soon! But enough with the chit-chat, here’s your next Feel Good Friday! I found this in a Facebook group for Vinson wives, but I’m unsure of the original source/author. It’s long, but I promise it’s totally worth the read!

Homecoming versus “homecoming”

In high school, we all remember Homecoming week. A week filled with excitement, dress-up days, and anticipation for the football game at the end of the week – homecoming week was one of the best weeks of high school.

But now that I’m all grown up, homecoming means something totally different.

My homecoming means my husband “coming home” to me. Homecoming means no more months of separation. Homecoming means no more late nights, full of longing. Homecoming means cooking for two people instead of one. Homecoming means smiling until my cheeks hurt. Homecoming means seeing him after months of tears and frustration. Homecoming means no more Skype dates and phone calls. Homecoming means no more dreaming of homecoming. Homecoming means inches separating us instead of miles. Homecoming means finally being in his arms again.

Homecoming means no more Afghanistan.

My week of homecoming is kind of like the old homecoming week: it will be filled with excitement, anticipation, and dressing-up. But my week of homecoming is going to be so much better than the old homecoming week… My week will mean the end of a long, hard, chapter of a love story that’s just beginning.

Because homecoming, for me, isn’t about the event. It’s about one moment…

That week I’ll make signs and decorate the car. I’ll get tanned and waxed and shaved and plucked in all the right places. I’ll clean the house until it’s spotless, then do it all over again the day before. I’ll wear holes in the carpets from pacing around so much and I’m sure I’ll annoy my neighbors when I blast our songs too loud, for the thousandth time.

And each night I’ll go to sleep feeling more butterflies in my tummy than the night before.

In the morning, I’ll put on the outfit that I chose two months before, making sure that it’s clean and neatly pressed. Then I’ll change again. And again. And then I’ll put on the original outfit, deciding that my first choice was the best. I’ll put my make-up on, making sure that I apply waterproof mascara and waterproof foundation, because I don’t want it to smudge when I cry. Then I’ll try to force some food down but eventually give up at my futile attempts.

Then, I’ll grab the signs I made, and I’ll leave our home to go pick him up.

And while I drive, I’ll be nervous and clammy and giddy. My hands will get sweaty the way they always do, and I’ll start muttering to myself like a crazy person. I’ll find a parking space, then walk to wherever I need to go, and I’ll wait. And I’ll wait longer. And then a little longer. But then, they’ll walk in. They’ll stand in formation, and I’ll scan the lines for his familiar face, getting more and more nervous the entire time.

Then I’ll find his face in the crowd, and I’ll smile, and I’ll have to pinch myself to remember that it’s real.

I’ll sit through an all-too-long-but-oh-so-meaningful ceremony, and get anxious for the hullabaloo to be over and done with. “I’ve waited so many months already. Why are they making me wait 10 minutes more?”, I’ll think. I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting, waiting for the homecoming that I’ve been thinking about for months.

And here it finally is, the moment I’ve been dreaming of:

It’s the moment when I see him face to face for the first time in almost a year. And then the kiss. That first kiss. The kiss that makes your spirits soar and grounds your feet to earth. And for that second, every single angry thought, every angry word, all the hurt and resentment and frustration, it’s not going to be in the front of my mind. That moment – that beautiful, heart wrenching, wonderful moment – it’s the moment that the last 10 months has prepared me for. That moment will be the moment when everything will make sense again, when he’s back in my arms and I can look him in the eye and say, “I love you. I missed you.”

Homecoming in high school may have been one of the greatest weeks of high school, but my homecoming will be the greatest day of my life.